


Into The Fire

by ianthys



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: After Episode 99, Angst, Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Campfires, Cupcakes, Dark, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Memory Lane, Post-Canon, Sexual Tension, Spoiler Alert - Freeform, Xhorhas (Critical Role), the mighty nein - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:28:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23756170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ianthys/pseuds/ianthys
Summary: Back in Rosohna, Essek ponders his position with the Mighty Nein, but is interrupted by an unexpected visitor."You have never begged for anything in yourlife."
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, Shadowgast - Relationship
Comments: 10
Kudos: 171





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time posting here. i felt compelled because damn, who doesn't fucking love angsty wizards and floaty hot bois, but also i miss the show. disclaimer: i haven't written in 7 years and i've gone over this thing a billion times in the last week, so honestly, at this point i am done and wiping my hands _clean_. there's potential for more chapters in the future, for sure, so let's see where it takes us. **spoilers** if you're not up to episode 99. warning: explicit content.
> 
> if anyone is interested in visuals, i've used [Ari's](https://twitter.com/ornerine) breakdown of [Essek](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EPGGagAXkAEmJ4G?format=jpg&name=large) and [Caleb's](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EED-dqBXYAEB2_f?format=jpg&name=4096x4096) outfits

**E** ssek dropped the quill to the papers on his desk and steepled his fingers against his lips, his handsome features pulled into a grim expression. Candles hovered in the recesses of the walls and lit the study room with a warm glow. Rows and rows of shelves surrounded him; every available space neatly filled with books and paraphernalia he had collected over the years.

Apprehension snaked through his body. Every time he cast his thoughts three weeks back, to the last time his feet touched down aboard _The Balleater_ \- as ridiculous as the name was-, his stomach tightened. His discovery and the following peace negotiations had gone almost as badly for him as he could have imagined, barring excruciating torture and imminent death.

His only friends, if he could now call them so, scorned him to varying degrees, but what had arrested him more than anything was Caleb’s gaze. As they stood aboard the ship, the sea breeze whipping past them, the wizard’s eyes had blazed hotter than the scorching sun, boring a hole into the side of his head. When Caleb had kissed his forehead, relief, familiarity and a semblance of hope had washed over him, but he could no longer be so sure of his safety.

The Mighty Nein were as changeable as the tides.

 _How had a ragtag bunch of vagrants done this to him?_ The thought sat heavily in his mind as he lifted his head up to stare at the translucent ceiling above. The stars had no answer.

It could have been the strain of the entire three-year affair with the Cerberus Assembly. While he had thought himself untouchable at the time of the plan’s concoction, now he found that living a double life under the Dynasty was like being chased by a starved moorbounder. The beast was both impaired and invigorated by its hunger and bloodlust, and Essek could only run for so long. The Mighty Nein’s involvement had eventually brought to light the possibility that he might actually trip.

Essek stood abruptly, pacing to the window at the end of the room. Every book, scroll and scrap of parchment in his study, he had consumed, created and applied with such hunger and tenacity that he had deceived almost everyone around him. _Almost._

That exception incensed him.

A crackle of static hit his ears and he spun around to face the door. A familiar smell filtered in through the cracks. He moved swiftly to the chair, pulling the cloak and mantle over his shoulders where they belonged. Footsteps approached. The door did not immediately open, but three knocks followed. _Dum, dum, dum,_ as ever-clear as the night sky in Rosohna.

“Come in,” Essek called, his voice ringing clearly through the air as he lifted his arm towards the door, holding onto the magic brindling at his fingertips. The latch lifted on its own accord and the door eased open. Barely filling the frame was an easily recognisable red headed, _Zemnian_ wizard. Essek could not decide whether to be impressed or concerned that Caleb had managed to navigate through the walls without too much interruption.

“Ah, you knew it was me?” Caleb said pensively, clasping his hands in front of him – hands that never seemed to know where to be. “You spoke in common.”

“Yes, I had an inkling,” Essek motioned to the seat on the other side of the desk and the chair slid out from beneath it. “Please, sit. I’ll get us some tea.” With a flourish of his hand, a message was sent to one of his servants.

“Yes, well… That might not be necessary, I will not take up too much of your time.” Caleb’s eyes darted around the room and he stepped over carefully, as if measuring up the space between the two of them. His fingers came to rest on the back of the chair, dancing nervously. A fine purple wood, taken from the depths of the Penumbra Range. 

Essek sat back in his chair, placing his hands in his lap, and it seemed to invite Caleb to do the same. After a moment, the Zemnian man leant forward to rest his elbows on the desk, understated, but unafraid of taking up the space. “As always, your abode is impressive,” Caleb looked around the room, taking in the high ceiling and the night sky above. His eyes dropped to the papers on the desk before him, one hand settling on top.

“So, you can teleport now? I am impressed that you made it to this exact corridor,” Essek remarked, although his tone belied no such joy, only a modicum of curiosity. “No message?”

“Yes, I apologise for not reaching out in advance. I, ah, do not have Jester’s capabilities. I am here to speak to you ahead of the… Mighty Nein,” Caleb explained in a slow, measured lilt. His voice rarely rose in cadence, but his lack of emphasis in speech came out in his hands, as they clasped and unclasped as he muddled his way through his thoughts.

“They do not know you are here then?” Essek asked, raising his eyebrows. Perhaps that was the reason for the uncomfortable tension.

“No. You know, they are good people. They care for you. I care for you,” Caleb continued, treading carefully. Essek could feel Caleb’s eyes lifting from the papers, to his dark robes. They travelled over the silver mantle gracing his shoulders, burning a line up his neck and over the sharp planes of his face until they finally met his gaze. “But I do not know what will happen and they have their own opinions on you. We are at the tail end of dealing with Jester’s… Convention… Anyway, I wanted to check in with you and see how you were doing.”

“I… have little to say that hasn’t already been said,” Essek gave a small, practiced smile and shook his head. “I am quite busy. The end of the war has not exactly reduced my workload but at the very least, I am no longer juggling the Empir—”

“Neither of us are good at small talk, so let’s cut the bullshit,” Caleb interjected, tapping his hand on the papers. “I came here, because I want to see that you are the person you showed us.” Stubble was starting to set in along his jaw and chin, a layer of dark reddish hair that had not been present in their most recent meetings. His eyes were hard and hollow, as if he had not slept in days and the scent of ash and parchment paper lingered in the air.

“I am aware that I am in no place to bargain,” Essek shifted, laying his hands out on the table. “I am only hoping that what was said on that ship was true.”

“Everything that was said was true. As true for you, as for me. Now, some of the others might not understand,” Caleb swallowed, glancing away for just a moment. Essek straightened his shoulders. “They might not understand your motives. But I believe I do.”

“Caleb,” Essek sighed. That snake of apprehension coiled tighter inside his ribcage, squeezing. The man was nothing if not earnest. “I am continuing as I always have. I cannot lie. I have not left Rosohna to repent for my crimes. I am here, doing my research as usual. You are welcome to read it if you wish.”

Caleb’s eyes dropped, off into a dark corner, perhaps one in the room or one in his mind. His lips pulled into a thin line, his head nodding slowly. “I can see that.”

Without a word, Essek looked to the door, raised his hand and let in a drow servant holding a tea tray. She placed it on a clear table at the end of the desk, filled the cups, and just as efficiently, she left. Essek had not missed her eyes darting between the two of them, however.

The candles flickered and popped occasionally, but nothing else seemed to interrupt the silence. Essek found his own breathing bothersome and he readjusted his robes in an attempt to cover it. “From the empire?” Caleb asked, and with Essek’s nod of affirmation, he slowly turned the pages towards himself, leafing through them. His eyes flickered as if possessed, a blur of blue. After a short while, he looked up from the papers and to Essek. “I do not understand most things here, but… It seems they are sending you little.”

“It has been but a few weeks,” Essek replied, impatient. “I have been doing this for years.”

“I cannot help thinking you are a dog waiting for scraps, Essek,” Caleb sighed, mulling over the papers for a moment longer before dropping them on the desk. “I may not understand the intricacies of your deal, but I do know these people. They are just trying to temper you.”

“There is more here than you know,” He replied reproachfully, narrowing his eyes. It was rare that he lost his temper, but Caleb’s preaching jostled something loose in him. “I have apologised. I had calculated that the Bright Queen might launch some kind of attack but I had presumed an outright war in response to the loss of the beacons as unlikely. An unlikely reaction, but a necessary risk. I still believe I was wrong on one of those accounts, only.

“This knowledge that I have will not only be my own. I desire more than anything to apply it to the world around me. I have shared my findings with you, have I not? Trusted in you, no?”

“There was once a time where I would have sacrificed anything to get what I wanted,” Caleb pressed his lips together, a slight shrug to his shoulders. Essek found that he carried a constant heaviness, one that pulled you in and implored that you meet him halfway – always. The man had weaved the weight of the entire world into his irises, and it had gotten him far.

Essek rose and carefully removed his cloak and mantle, placing it over back of the chair. His hand came to rest on the intricate silver inlay. He had earned this mantle and the title that came with it, as rendering as that journey had been. It felt unnatural to wear it in this man’s company.

“But things have changed.” A hand touched his forearm, the warmth bleeding through the layers of his jackets, and he was pulled back to the ground. He turned to find Caleb stretched across the desk to reach him. He had stacked the papers and moved them to the side, planting his other hand in the clear space. Careful as ever. Caleb was right, more than anything. He felt the irritation slip away, replaced with something more sombre. Things had changed.

“Essek, we can help you, but you have to want it,” Caleb spoke quietly, earnestly. A pooling sensation filled Essek’s chest. He could see Caleb waiting for an answer, for some inclination that he had been heard. His shoulders felt no lighter and he sighed, allowing his eyes to close for a heartbeat or two.

“What can I do that would make any of this better?” Essek asked, genuinely, eyes fluttering open. Caleb squeezed his arm in response and retreated across the desk.

“Looking at you infuriates me somewhat,” Caleb muttered, but a small smile lifted the very corners of his mouth. His posture seemed to soften as he moved around the desk to stand in front of him. Essek leaned back ever so slightly, taking in the man’s face. The slight lines around his mouth, the burgeoning crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. _Humans age so quickly._ Essek lifted his chin slightly, trying to gage the situation, but before he could speak, he found himself encircled in Caleb’s arms, gently pulling him into an embrace.

How readily they gave affection truly bewildered Essek. It wasn’t just a personal preference; his people were largely guarded, respectful and careful with each other. There was a hierarchy, most definitely, and his mother and father had been detached with their physicality. It wasn’t something Essek had ever questioned, it just was. He could not remember ever being embraced in such a manner.

“I waited a very long time to trust you. You know the rest, Essek,” Caleb’s breath tickled the side of his neck. Slowly, he allowed his hands to rest on Caleb’s back, more so for the man’s sake than his own. His heart thumped, an uneasy sensation clinging to his diaphragm. “All we… All I am asking is that you try.”

The silence expanded across the entire room.

“I will do what I can,” Essek finally spoke. “I want to keep the friendship I have with all of you, but I admit that I do not know where to turn now or how to do it.”

“You sound honest. Good.” Caleb’s breath brushed over his cheeks. Essek could feel, somewhat distantly, Caleb’s hands release him, the cool air filling the space between them as warm, calloused palms came to rest on his jaw. They were rougher than any servants’ in his employ.

“You look like you’ve been punched in the gut, friend,” Caleb muttered, blue eyes staring back at him. Essek swallowed, searching the man’s face for some semblance of direction. Despite the joking manner in which he spoke, a unique tension poured off of the man, his lips pursing as if searching for a word.

“Is—” Essek started, but his words were silenced, a tender pressure against his lips cutting him off. Like the hands, the sensation was rough but gentle all at once. The scratch against his skin, he belatedly realised, was the prickle of Caleb’s stubble. A chill ran down his spine, his stomach dropping like a boulder tumbling over a cliff’s edge. His hands moved automatically, pushing at the wizard’s shoulders to pry him away. The fingertips at his jaw held their pressure, and like his eyes, they asked him to stay. He wrenched his head free, stumbling back with the force. The desk caught him.

“Caleb,” Essek’s breath escaped. Every nerve in his body rang. The sensation was so overwhelming that his head spun, like the first time he had looked into the beacon, the flurry of possibility and confusion rushing through him. None of it made sense, and the more he looked, the more he could see.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb’s brow furrowed and he lowered his head, eyes locked onto Essek. His lips lifted into an apologetic smile. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Essek could do nothing but try to control his breathing, stunned speechless. Even as Caleb approached him again, and his chest flipped, he did not move. One hand cupped his face gently, his thumb pressing firmly against his cheek. Heat pooled in the pit of his stomach, throbbing incessantly. Confusion filled him. Seconds turned into minutes as Caleb waited.

With no denial, Caleb leaned in once more, tentatively kissing Essek until there was a hesitant response. The man stepped in closer and he could feel the heat radiating off him in waves. Slowly, he was stepped back into the desk, the tabletop digging into the backs of his thighs. He found his grip easing and he let his hands rest on Caleb’s arms, apprehension tight in the straightness of his shoulders. A certain light-headedness came with the thumping beat of his heart, and he closed his eyes to the static dancing on the inside of his eyelids.

The man became more fevered, mouthing up Essek’s neck, easing his head back with fingers in his hair. His entire body was strung tight as a bow as teeth brushed his jaw. As if in a trance, he simply reacted, allowing his hand to rest on the desk as Caleb’s weight pressed into him. The sound of heavy breathing filled the air, but Essek did not realise it was his own.

“Essek,” Caleb breathed hoarsely into his ear, shaking him. “If this… is not what you want, say so.” Essek held himself there, chest rising and falling, eyes blinking open to rove hungrily over Caleb’s face. He could not begin to imagine his own expression, but Caleb’s cheeks were flushed, a concerned line to his brow but an agitated excitement in his eyes. A desperation he couldn’t hide. Essek pushed forward, a forceful hand curling around the back of Caleb’s neck to bring him in. There was no denying, now, the throbbing of arousal and the slow unravel of the knot in his chest. Not only arousal, but the sheer frustration of the last three years, the last three months, bubbled up from inside him. He felt himself being unpieced.

Caleb’s body melted into him and a long breath escaped from his throat. He had never felt such an all-consuming hunger. The desk creaked loudly, the papers crumpling and falling to the floor as Essek dropped back onto the desk, catching himself on his elbows, the body above bearing down with all of his weight.

He could feel his jacket bunched up over his waist. The sheer, silken undershirt beneath had come untucked from his trousers, a slither of deep violet skin on show. The thought rapidly entered his mind and then slipped away as his chest tightened. _No one has ever seen me like this._ Compromised and wanting. He had not thought himself capable.

No, that was incorrect. He considered it a choice to be above such mundanities. He had had sex, yes. A mentor, years ago, had suggested he release some of his tension in more elaborate, implied tones. He had been overtaken with frustration at the restrictions and limitations at the latter end of his schooling as a young adult, and so he had done what was necessary. He had experienced enough, he thought, to understand it, but he had never wanted another body again. And never for a man. No one could quite measure up.

A hand on his jaw brought him physically back, forcing his eyes open and to the man’s above him. The weight of Caleb's body and the hardness of his cock pressed him into the tabletop. He hadn’t missed a beat, piercing eyes nailing him down.

“Look at me, don’t worry about that,” Caleb exhaled the words, releasing his jaw and pressing a finger to Essek’s temple. He could not read the man. Perhaps he was having similar thoughts and sought to silence them. His own desire was apparent, the tightness of his trousers uncomfortable.

Caleb slipped free of Essek’s fingers and lifted his body up, holding himself up on locked elbows, his eyes unblinking. Slowly, he eased his weight back onto his feet and he pulled the scarf from around the lapels of his coat, dropping it to the ground. Essek watched him remove his long, purple coat, weighing up the man in front of him.

“You don’t want to stop?” Caleb mumbled; his voice low. Essek recognised that expression, though, that slight doubt in the press of his brows as he ran a hand through his hair. The tie holding it back fell to the ground, the strands coming loose about his jaw. The other hand paused at the lapel of his undercoat, tense fingers pressed into the hooks, waiting for permission to continue.

He barely had to think about it. The hunger fuelled him. He needed to know, to understand.

“No,” Essek exhaled, finally releasing a word through the tightness of his throat. He watched the undulation of Caleb’s neck as he swallowed, the gentle glow of the room casting shadows over the muscles and tendons. His blue, glaring eyes, dark with lust, caught the flames in the walls. Caleb’s hand ran along the outside of his thigh, squeezing his hip. He could feel his body yearning for the touch, prickling as a thumb ran against the exposed skin of his stomach.

Just like that, the touch was removed and he found himself untensing, relaxing back into the desk.

Caleb slowly undid his jacket. It was only then that Essek noticed the deep brown leather belt around his narrow waist, and the holsters over his straight shoulders. He pushed himself up and reached out, nimble fingers undoing the belt and dropping it to the ground, the book thumping to the floor. 

Caleb’s gaze burned into him as he reached up to ease the holster straps over his shoulders. It was only then he could feel the man’s body stiffen, hands grabbing his wrists.

“Sorry,” he whispered, releasing Essek. Caleb let out the breath he had been holding as Essek eased the straps back off his shoulders and manoeuvred the holster free from his body, carefully placing the books on the desk beside him. The jacket dropped to the floor with a soft thump.

His fingers found the edge of the grey, long-sleeved undershirt beneath and he pulled it over his head with little ceremony. The light danced over the man’s ribs, the slight muscle across his abdomen and chest moving under his skin as he stretched his arms upwards. With all of his layers removed, Essek could see he wasn’t a large man, sturdy enough, but lithe and with little extra fat. White, silvered scars littered his upper body, with one larger, deeper scar blossoming around his ribs. It was more pigmented, as if burnt into his skin.

Caleb lowered his arms and threw the shirt to the side, his chest rising and falling. The thin, red, bracer-like material that covered the man’s left arm was still in place. Caleb drew his arm across his body, tracing his fingers over it, anxiously. His breathing filled the room, rapidly elevating.

Essek clenched his jaw, a pulse of desire washing over him. Feeling the rising tension, the expectation, he dropped his gaze and reached a hand up to undo the clasp at his own neck. The jacket he wore was cropped and purely decorative, wrapping around his ribs in a curve and meeting just below his shoulder blades at his back. He shrugged out of it, placing it over Caleb’s books. Underneath he wore another, knee-length, deep purple jacket, the panels splitting at the tops of his thighs. He undid the clasps of the asymmetrical lapel, sliding his arms free and letting it pool behind him. There, he sat, in a sheer, white, sleeveless shirt, dishevelled and pulled from his trousers. It was tied with thin ribbons at his chest and spilled outwards, revealing his abdomen. By no means was he heavily muscled, but he found he carried more weight and width than Caleb.

The chill in the air hit him and an involuntary shiver ran down his spine, the hairs on his back and arms rising. He looked up at Caleb, seeing conflict, trepidation and arousal reflected back at him.

“You are a very attractive man, Essek,” Caleb exhaled and released his forearm. His expression relaxed and he stepped forward, tentatively resting his weight against the inside of Essek’s thighs. The compliment hummed through him, settling warmly in his stomach.

After a moment of deliberation, Essek placed his hands on Caleb’s hips. “We should finish what we started, yes?” He let the words fall into the small space between them, glancing up. Caleb’s eyes seemed to alight. He had felt the anxiety lifting the man away from the moment, his mind turning inwards as he had done only minutes before.

Essek leant forward, breaking eye contact as he pressed his mouth to the fair skin of Caleb’s chest, sliding his arms up to the middle of his back. A dusting of red hair brushed his mouth, a light trail leading down his stomach and beneath the band of his trousers. It was completely novel. Almost everyone he knew within his den were comparatively hairless. The only visible hair on his own body was on his head, and that was stark white against his deep skin.

Purposefully, he worked his way upwards, feeling Caleb’s body curling down to meet him. He stopped at the man’s neck, one hand sliding up his back and delving into the tangles of his hair. The body in his arms expanded and deflated, the muscles of Caleb’s torso tensing as he pushed them both back onto the desk once more, stretching over top of him, lowering his hips between Essek’s legs.

The kisses were slower this time, but no less hungry, exploratory. Caleb’s mouth seemed to slowly engulf him; his tongue thick as they intertwined. Essek found the heat in his body building, his cock filling with blood once more, but now, he ached with such strength that he felt as if something was clawing out of him.

Time seemed to slow as they rocked together in limbo, pleasure and heat mixing between them. Essek slipped his hands beneath Caleb’s breeches, easing the material over his backside.

“I want to know everything,” Caleb hissed through his teeth against Essek’s lips, a saccharine darkness in his eyes. His entire body reacted to the words. Perhaps he would have been embarrassed otherwise, but he reached between them brazenly, unlacing his breeches and pulling his cock free. He felt Caleb do the same and finally, finally he felt some relief from the heavy ache within him. The man’s hands around him were tight and swift. The sensation was something he both wanted to lean into and pull away from.

He grasped Caleb’s cock and let his head drop, his eyes falling closed to shield himself from that intense gaze. The man pressed his forehead into Essek’s chest, breath billowing hotly, wetly against his smooth skin as Essek worked him. Caleb’s breathing quickened, his hips rocking forward. The desk creaked loudly beneath them. It wasn’t long before Caleb’s breath hitched, his body tensing.

“Ah, _shit_ ,” he hissed, slipping out of common, sucking in air and holding it for a long moment. Essek opened his eyes, his cheeks hot as he watched the orgasm pass over Caleb’s face. The man had pushed himself up with one arm, hovering over Essek and it trembled under his weight. His cock throbbed in Essek’s grip and as threads of heat hit his stomach, cooling as it dripped through his fingers. Caleb finally let the breath go, panting heavily above him.

Caleb’s hand had paused around him, squeezing but not moving, and Essek forced his hips to keep still even while his cock pulsed at the sight. “I think… This is the first time I have heard you speak Zemnian,” Essek exhaled the words, strangely elated. Caleb shook his head, his eyes barely open.

“Don’t think I have forgotten,” Caleb muttered, his hand moving once more. Essek threw the words around in his mind, back and forth, searching the other man’s face for an answer. His eyes were heavy, but he could see mirth mixed with something darker. With Caleb’s own pleasure satiated, his attention was unbridled, his stare unbreaking.

Essek narrowed his eyes, grabbing the man’s wrist in a meek attempt at controlling the situation. Caleb staunchly held himself up despite how his arm seemed ready to give, and watched with such intensity as waves of pleasure washed over Essek’s body. He fought not to let it show, teeth biting his bottom lip to hold back the sounds in his throat. He reached above him with his other hand, grasping the edge of the desk.

“Why must you watch me,” Essek forced out through gritted teeth. As if in response, Caleb adjusted his pace, tantalisingly slow, tight and deliberate. He knew, though, that the man didn’t only want to pull all of his secrets from him. He wanted to pull apart his very existence, to lay him out and strip him to the bones, to learn everything about him and measure it. 

Relentlessly.

Even as Essek’s breaths came heavy, restricted in his chest, Caleb held him in an agonising space, holding him down with the gravity of his gaze. He could not look away, his bottom lip pulling free of his teeth as a low moan tore out of his throat, his shallow breaths echoing around the high ceilings of the chamber. Caleb’s eyes were sharp and focused as he studied Essek’s face – and he could only place the look as starved, menacing shadows falling across his face.

“Please,” Essek exhaled tightly, feeling his body submit to the tension in the air, the foreboding sense of danger crawling up his scalp. He released Caleb’s wrist and reached his other arm up, both hands gripping the edge of the desk above him so tightly that he thought his knuckles might pop. He could feel himself teetering on the edge of a vast cavern, heat rushing through his veins as Caleb’s hand moved. The sensation of falling only made him hold on tighter.

“You have never begged for anything in your _life_ ,” Caleb breathed, leaning in, pressing his nose into Essek’s cheek. He knew the man could see everything. Every moan, every clench of his jaw, every curve of his brow that questioned the precarious position he was in - Caleb seemed to be feeding from it, growing larger every second.

“ _Now,_ ” Caleb commanded, in his native tongue. The flames flared in his eyes. It pushed Essek over, and only then he knew he had been waiting, his body not his own to control. A long, shuddery breath escaped him, thrumming like the string of a harp as he threw his head back, Caleb’s hunger burned into his retinas. An untethered, guttural moan left Essek’s lips and he rolled his hips up into Caleb’s palm as the man pulled the climax from him.

* * *

Essek’s chest rose and fell heavily, his lower back easing onto the desk as Caleb released him. It felt like hours later when he finally opened his eyes, swimming in the sensations rushing over his body. The beat of his heart throbbed in his ears as if he was underwater, and he stared up at the ceiling, the stars glaring down at him. 

Adrenaline gushed through his veins as he recalled the intensity of Caleb’s gaze, but he calmed himself, carefully lifting up onto his elbows to take a long look at the man lying between his legs. Caleb seemed a million miles away, his rough fingers absently stroking Essek’s sides. His skin tingled in the wake of his fingertips.

Noticing the air shift, Caleb looked up. Essek searched his face, his heartrate easing slowly as he found a relaxed, if somewhat apprehensive smile, his eyebrows upturned curiously. Essek sighed through his nose, slowly dropping to his haunches.

The silence seemed to stretch indefinitely, until the niggling sensation of someone standing too closely drew his attention. He glanced at the door behind him, realising that the servant had returned to collect the tea, and quickly sent her away with a message and a lazy weave of his hand. He wondered how long she had been there, what she might have heard on the other side of that door, and swallowed tensely.

“You don’t need to say anything to her,” Caleb said, his voice gruff but lilted with amusement, and the weight on his stomach lifted as the man sat beside him. The wave of cold over his abdomen shook him free of the physical stupor, but brought with it another unwanted sensation. He swept his hair out of his face and sat up, adjusting to cover himself.

“You are right, I have other ways to ensure silence,” Essek retorted, pulling the silken vest from his arms, cleaning himself off with quick, vigorous strokes. In his periphery, Caleb shook his head, a small smile on his lips, and covered himself. Essek wiped off his hands as best he could and tossed the shirt to the floor.

When he stood, he found his thighs trembled. He fumbled at the edge of his trousers, catching them before they could slip from his hips entirely and tied them at the waist. His jacket, that had been spread beneath him, was sullied, and he forlornly picked it up from the table, revealing somewhat creased and smudged papers. Cold fingers touching his wrist brought his gaze back to the seated man, and he looked down at the red material on Caleb’s forearm. It had loosened, just so, and more, silvered scars peeked out from underneath. These were bigger, ragged.

“I… Wasn’t expecting that to happen,” Caleb said, just above a whisper, bringing the reality of the situation back to him as he stood. “I didn’t think it through.”

The words drew an exasperated chuckle from Essek’s throat. “I think it is safe to say that is a habit of wizards, yes,” His voice was laced in sarcasm. “I will take it as another favour owed, how about that?”

“You do not honestly believe that was a favour to me?” Caleb gave him a sideward glance, gently squeezing his shoulder, with a light, even playful, smile. “Well, I would say that perhaps we are on equal terms.” The only time Essek had seen such an expression was when they had finally pieced together the last of Nott’s spell. No matter how hard he looked, there was no malice to be found. He couldn’t help but reciprocate, his head falling forward to somewhat obscure the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. With a hiss, he eased back onto the desk and dropped the jacket in his lap, his hands rubbing circles into his temples.

“It’s okay,” Caleb assured, and Essek watched him dress from under his fingers. The scar on his ribs indeed stretched all the way around to his back, like a textured ink spot. There was a rigidness to his spine and he dressed automatically, as if it had been done a thousand times before, with the same exact motions. He checked his belt and holsters for the books, going through the pouches routinely, confirming his components, before lacing the belt around his waist and shrugging the book holsters over his shoulders. In moments, he was completely dressed, wrapping the scarf around his neck and turning towards him. _Is there one of us you would have watched longer?_ Essek recalled Yasha’s abrupt, probing statement, and he averted his gaze.

“Drink your tea,” Caleb patted the top of his arm firmly and reached for one of the teacups. One incantation later, the liquid was steaming once more and Caleb pushed the cup into Essek’s hand. The heat of the porcelain burnt into his fingertips, and he stoically continued brushing out the creases of his jacket with his free hand. It would be easy to clean, but prestidigitation felt somewhat cheap to fix a problem as monumental as this.

Caleb came to rest on the desk next to him, carefully seating himself so his knee pressed into Essek’s thigh. Besides the occasional sound of Caleb sipping, silence befell the study room.

“I fear I have more than outstayed my welcome,” Caleb exhaled through his teeth finally, placing the cup back on the tray with a slight clink. He gave Essek a searching look, and Essek returned it, leaning back on one arm.

“I will see you again soon. Probably with more company,” His eyebrows rose and Essek closed his eyes, pondering that statement. The idea of seeing them all again, especially now, made him particularly uncomfortable. Their jeering and innuendo had been unyielding, even when their interest in each other had been largely academic, but now, he could not quite face even the thought of their scrutiny. Especially Jester’s watchful gaze. Essek grimaced at the thought. A thumb under his chin brought his head up, and he opened his eyes to Caleb standing in front of him.

“I will say nothing about this, to any of them,” Caleb said, vehemently. He seemed genuine, but they both knew that they could extract it from him one way or another. Nodding, with a sigh, Essek pulled his chin free of Caleb’s grasp.

“Please,” Essek pushed himself up from the desk, placing the cup of tea down. Heat washed over him as the word hit the air, and he paused. Caleb did not let on that he noticed anything in particular. With a gesture to the teleportation circle in the corner of the room, he cleared his throat and continued on, subtly steering Caleb towards it. “You do not need to reassure me. When do you think you will return?”

“We are preparing to leave Rumblekusp... I’m not sure if we will return to the Dynasty or the Empire first. That is why I came. As usual, we are... _indecisive_.”

“I see. I should probably expect to see them all soon,” Essek stepped around Caleb and pulled his robe from beneath the mantle, wrapping it around his shoulders. “Well, I will prepare myself, nonetheless.”

“It may go better than you think, Essek,” Caleb reached out, patting Essek’s cheek once and stepped out of his space and across the room. “I will be back soon, to go over those notes with you, yes?” Caleb threw back behind him as he stepped into the circle, pointing between Essek and the desk. There was an ebullient bounce in his step. The jarring change in his behaviour wasn't entirely unwelcome. The tension in the room was undoubtedly uncomfortable, and he knew the wizard wanted to escape as quickly as possible.

“I will be here,” Essek offered mildly, brandishing his hands outwards.

Caleb muttered something under his breath and nodded, a hesitant line to his lips. The man made a series of motions in the air, arcane words slipping from his lips, and the teleportation circle lit with a bright blue light. Essek lifted his hand in a small wave."Yes, _goodbye_ Essek," Caleb said under his breath, just as his form disappeared from view and the cool, blue light dimmed.

The room seemed especially cold, quiet and lonely as the tension evaporated. A soft sigh escaped his lips and he eased into his chair, hazily surveying the mess around him. The faint scent of ash, parchment and salt lingered in the air. He held out his hand and the tea cup steadily rose, drifting into his open hand.

 _No, this was not what I had expected either._ He propped his head up in his hand, sipping at the tea slowly, ruminating over the taste. It was one of Caduceus' teas - a unique blend of death that he appreciated more than anything in that moment. His eyes rested on the corner of the room, where the parasol Jester had gifted him leant against the wall.

Caleb’s warning manifested in his mind, leaving him perplexed by the man’s polarity. He hadn’t realised how charged it was in the moment. How laced in threat it had been. The words swirled and curled into a maddeningly, tight ball of molten lead, taking their rightful place in the pit of his stomach once more. There was no escape for him yet.


	2. The Lies We Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb returns to Rumblecusp, shaken in the wake of the night's events. A protein-packed meal from Yasha, and a hushed conversation with Jester later, he finally finds sleep.  
>   
>  _"You're not going to leave, are you?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the second instalment! this is really just massive amounts of character study and dialogue. it occurred to me that Caleb wouldn't actually know Teleport yet, unless they magically jumped two levels, but it is what it is now. obviously, this is post-canon, so i'm just going on a wonderful lil journey making up _all_ the things, because i have no idea what Rumblecusp is really like. **enjoy!**

**T** he journey to Rumblecusp was over in seconds, but his consciousness and corporeal form stitched back together far quicker than he could adjust. His vision blurred, a throbbing pulse behind his eyes as he surveyed the shadowed landscape around him. One black, unending sky to another. The moon was infinitely brighter here, lighting the sulphur flats that stretched out before him in a wash of grey. The constant drone of clicks, chirps and buzzes filled the air. Crickets, midges, and who knew what else hiding in the sparse tropical underbrush.

Just within view against a line of tropical trees, a singular flame pierced the dark like a beacon and a ribbon of smoke disappeared into the night sky. He hadn’t been away for long. First watch would be ending soon… which meant Yasha would be on guard for only a little while longer. She was one of the least intrusive of the bunch and he found her quiet resilience comforting.

Dropping into a crouch, Caleb cupped his hands and water filled them. He splashed his face, scrubbing the memory of the night from his lips and chin. The air was thick with the rancid scent of the geysers, but he was sure the only thing he could smell was Essek. He smoothed his wet hands through his hair, a relief from the dry heat around him, and shook his hands off to the sides. With his head drooped and his elbows resting on his knees, he sucked in a breath.

It would only be so long before something found him out here, friend or foe. That didn’t give him long to prepare.

With a click of his fingers, the curling, inquisitive form of Frumpkin appeared at his feet. He reached out to the purring feline, scratching behind his ears.

“Hey buddy,” Caleb whispered, hush and low as he picked the feline up and placed him on his shoulders. Despite the heat, the weight and softness around his neck was a comfort. “Come on, let’s return to our family, yes?”

Quietly, he picked his way across the dusty, dry landscape, the lightness in his step long gone. He worked the tension from his face, methodically playing over the events that had happened and replacing them with the story he had already weaved before he left. Eventually, he was close enough to see Yasha’s strong build. She was bent over her lap, working on something with her hands, the muscles in her arms tense. A few rodent-like creatures were cooking over the fire.

A crack of a twig underfoot startled the woman and she dropped what was in her hands, beginning to stand, her hand reaching for the huge blade beside her. Before she could hack him apart, Caleb rushed forward into the light, waving his hands.

“Oh… Hello Caleb,” She eased back into a seat, propping her sword back against the bench. As her hands reached to the floor, Caleb could see a small dagger and a piece of wood. It had the vaguest shape of a flower. “You could have warned me. I almost killed you.”

“I’m sorry, I didn't think to. It was lucky you heard me.” He clasped his hands together and took up a seat next to her. The deadpan delivery of such brutal words brought a small smile to his lips.

Frumpkin sought more interesting prospects and leapt from his shoulders, curling up comfortably next to Yasha’s leg. She gave the cat a stilted, exploratory scratch on the head, before her hands began working again, digging the tip of the dagger into the wood. “That is beautiful. For… For your wife? Zuala?”

“Yes,” Yasha nodded, glancing over at Caleb. “The places we have been lately… Well, they have been rather desolate. I am good with my hands and I don’t like to sit here with nothing to do. Sometimes, the silence is too loud. I think you know what I mean.”

He held her gaze. Her eyes were sharp and he fervently believed they all underestimated what she saw. There was such… clarity in her mismatched irises in spite of all the things that happened to her. She said nothing else and with Caleb’s slow nod, she continued working. He stared into the campfire, rubbing anxiously at the stubble on his chin and around his mouth. 

“How was it?” She asked after a while, leaning back into her seat. Her hands played with the carved flower, her thumbs running over the rough wood. Caleb stared dumbly into the flames, searching for some kind of context within it. Recognition finally befell his features.

“Oh… Oh, it was fine. Yussa really did not have an awful lot to say,” Caleb exhaled, gesturing slightly with his hands and shaking his head. “I mean, not much we don’t already know. The, uh, the Clovis Concord are as suspicious and concerned as usual when it comes to the Empire, but things seem… Stable.

“Apparently, there are increased Crownsguard numbers within Nicodranas still and the roads to Port Zoon, Port Damali and Trostenwald are heavily patrolled. He believes that is the case across all of the empire, however…

“But, no, nothing much else. He is still very much exploring the _Happy Fun Ball_ … I think he said that he was working on a way to either deactivate or control the golems."

The press of her brow remained. A solid ten seconds passed, ten seconds of Yasha’s mismatched irises staring into his very soul, ten seconds of suffocating heat licking at his face. The fire crackled, glowing brighter for just a moment, and he could feel the sweat prickling at his hairline.

“Caleb, when was the last time you ate?” Yasha threw at him. He let out a breathy chuckle and shrugged out of his jacket. _Shit._ What a relief.

“Ahah, well, I have these.” He willed a slanted smile to his face and pulled out a bead of nourishment from a small pouch. Before he could pop it in his mouth, Yasha held her hand out.

“No, don’t. Eat some meat. That can’t be good for you.” She stood and began removing one of the charred carcasses from above the fire. Caleb stomach churned at the thought. He had consumed worse while in the throes of his darkest days, and had killed, skinned and cooked animals from a young age, more-so out of necessity than a desire to do so, but this was something else.

“Don’t worry, I will remove the meat for you,” She muttered under her breath. Any other time, Caleb would have expected sarcasm, but he could find none. She pulled a leather swatch from a pouch, sat and layed out the body in her lap. She carefully picked the meat free from the bones, her rough hands nimble and patient. In the end, she tossed the fleshless remains into the fire and handed him the leather bundle.

“Thank… you,” He said, surprised by her kindness. He set the bundle down in his lap and began to eat, placing morsel after morsel in his mouth. It wasn’t the worst texture, certainly not, but he chewed automatically, barely tasting it. His mind only wanted to be in one place, drawing back to Essek in the empty moment.

More than anything, Caleb was bewildered by what had happened. Essek’s vulnerability had loosened something inside of him, whether that was the catalyst for setting it free or creating it, he had no idea. For one moment in time, he had wanted the man to suffer. The apprehension in his cold eyes, the power Caleb held over him, his ultimate acquiescence… He wondered if Essek knew that. Whether he did or did not, the man had stayed in that place with him. He felt no such ill will towards Essek now; only shame, and a curious, coiling warmth in the pit of his stomach.

He was not sure at all that he could take Essek on alone, if it came to it. His own knowledge of Dunamancy was so… limited, and he knew almost nothing of the Shadowhand’s speciality to even be able to predict what a fight between the two of them might look like. No, it could very well be the end of him to try something so foolhardy. Besides, he did not _want_ to fight Essek. If nothing else, he desired so strongly for the man to stay with them, to continue learning from him.

Recalling that he was the one that kissed Essek, Caleb frowned and absently picked some food from his teeth. An egocentric power trip was not where his actions had originated. Essek’s admittance that he did not know where to turn, and the slow deconstruction of the walls between them, had hit him hard. No, it wasn’t just to learn from him. He wished to guide Essek in the right direction, to stop him becoming like those of the Cerberus Assembly. It was relief, mixed with the right amount of admiration and… well… it could be nothing else but attraction.

“I don’t like to pry, but you seem very preoccupied tonight,” Yasha’s murmured tones cut through the silence. Caleb blinked, his eyes stinging.

“The last couple of weeks have been… tiring,” he exhaled. “How about you?”

“Honestly, I am just glad to have you all,” She paused her work and sighed heavily. “I think, if I did not… I… Even after being freed from Obann, I considered leaving. Disappearing into the Empire and beyond, back to my home. I wanted what I thought I deserved, and I am sure I would have found it.

“I know you struggle with something similar, Caleb,” Fixing him with a level stare, she shook the knife as if to accentuate her words. “But… Do not do it alone. You might survive your revenge, but you would not like yourself afterwards. That is why we are all here. To keep each other from falling too far.”

“You are all great people,” he whispered, nodding slowly. As he had expected, her introspection was vast, but he was shocked by her candidness. The lie he had told sat heavily on his heart. “I believe that to be true. And I really appreciate what you all do for me.”

“What we all do for each other. Now go to sleep. I will wake one of the others soon… Jester wanted to paint these,” Yasha delved her hand into a pouch on the floor and filtered her fingers through dozens of intricately and not-so intricately carved flowers, of all different shapes and sizes. “So, it will be her. I know she will make them much more beautiful than I could, anyway.”

“Thank you, Yasha. Not only for the meal.” He wiped off the piece of scrap leather and handed it back to her.

“You are welcome, now go,” She waved him off with it and gestured to the tabby cat pretending to sleep at her side. “And take Frumpkin.”

Smirking, Caleb picked up the feline, cradling him in one arm and grabbing his jacket with the other. He walked towards the shadowed mounds spread out not far from the fire. The ground here was covered in a dry grass, a little more comfortable than the hard dirt ground, and he picked a spot to the outskirts of the sleeping group.

He laid his jacket out and dropped onto it slowly, the muscles in his torso and shoulders complaining. He placed Frumpkin to the side and quietly pulled some parchment, ink and a quill from a pouch on his belt. With a wave of his hand, he summoned a tiny globule of light. _There._

He leant forward, and with a moment’s pause, began writing, the scratch of the quill joining the chorus of insects. He heard someone shift to his right, a few metres over.

“Caleb…!” Jester squinted at him through the dark, leaning up on her elbow. “Is that you?”

“Mhm-hmmmm,” he hummed, deep in his throat.

“What are you doing?” As hushed as her words were, it was as if she was constantly on the urge of shouting, the words bubbling excitedly up in her throat. He continued scribbling.

“I am writing a letter.”

“To _who?_ ” She almost sounded insulted.

“An old friend.” 

“Astrid?”

“ _Eodwulf_.” Growing increasingly concerned that their not-so-hushed conversation would draw some attention, he looked to her.

“You will wake everyone,” he whispered tiredly, hiding his amusement. He had not expected that to be an invitation, however. There was shuffling in the dark, and in seconds, Jester had crawled over and come to a kneel in front of him. He let the scroll of parchment go, looking her in the eye as it curled in on itself.

“How are you going to send it?” She asked and leaned away, resigned to the fact she would not be privy to the contents. She knew him well enough by now.

“Frumpkin. I will turn him into a raven.”

“I could just do it for you, you know.” There was incredulous tone to her whisper, as if he was mad for not asking her.

“I do know, and it is _amazing_ that you can do that… But I like to do it the old-fashioned way.”

“Oh… Okay,” Jester’s voice was quiet, disheartened. She sat back; crossing her legs underneath her. Her fingers caught her tail and played with the small charm affixed to it. Picking up his quill once more, he pressed out the parchment with one hand and poised his hand to start writing again. Before he could pass the first word, Jester’s voice, softer, came over the silence. “Caleb?”

“ _Yes_ , Jester?”

“You’re not going to leave us, are you?”

Caleb paused. Jester’s expression was full of concern, her eyelashes almost touching her cheeks as she watched her hands play with the bead of silver. He placed the quill down.

“No…” He muttered. “Do you still worry about that?”

“Well, I just think about all of that sadness inside of you a _lot_. In all of us. It follows us around wherever we go,” She sighed heavily, dropping her tail and meeting his gaze. “And now you have brought Veth back, which is so, _so_ great… But I worry that… You will feel like you have no reason to be here…”

“Do you want me to stay?”

“Of course!” She hissed through the air, eyebrows pressing together. Her loveliness knew no bounds. An easy smile tugged at his lips.

“ _Well_ … Then I will stay. It is as simple as that.”

“Really?”

“For as long as you want me here.”

“Oh, _Caleb_ ,” Jester’s sigh huffed over his cheeks and she leaned up on her knees, pulling him into a hug over the materials laid out on the floor. Her head carefully rested on his shoulder so as not to headbutt him with her horns. He inhaled; a perpetual sweet scent followed her. “We will _all_ find happiness, one day.”

He wrapped one arm around her, pressing his hand lightly into the top of her back. A swell of emotion clawed at his throat. This night had been too full, and he was stretching himself thin.

“We will, there is no doubt about that.” He pulled back before the emotion in his voice could take over. He placed his hands on her shoulders, squeezing. “But don’t you ever worry. We will keep you safe.”

“I don’t need to be kept safe, Caleb,” Jester shot back, just above a whisper, devoid of any silliness. The warm light danced over her face, where a slight frown graced her delicate, pretty features. Where the usual mischief danced in her eyes, he found sobriety. She looked older… No, more worldly. Before he could respond, she pulled away from his hands.

“Goodnight, Caleb.” She gave him a small, enigmatic smile. Standing, her slight form outlined by the campfire, she strode away into the light. As soon as she was in earshot of Yasha, she bounced lightly in her step, plopping down animatedly onto the wooden log next to her, her skirt and cloak lifting as the air billowed around her. A bright smile pulled at her lips as they began pouring over something together, her tail whipping excitedly.

Caleb sighed, staring defeatedly at the quill and parchment.

_Oh, the master of deceit has you beat, Widogast._

For the remainder of his time awake, he prepared both the note and Frumpkin for travel. The tabby cat slipped into the sleek, black form of a raven, and once Caleb had attached the note to his leg, he disappeared into the night. He watched the cat go, for as long as his poor human eyes would allow, before falling onto his back with his arms crossed behind his head. He hoped it arrived.

Sleep pulled his heavy eyes shut, far more easily than it had come to him for weeks on end. It was rare that he dreamed, but that night there was one that played, over, and over, and over: Trent Ikithon’s twisted, contorted body, his mouth a black, endless void as flames devoured his wretched being.


	3. Death May Come Find Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guided by an insatiable craving, Essek takes a trip down memory lane into the Gallimaufry.
> 
>  _"Please, look after my cat until I return. He will be_ ravenous _."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was completely and utterly inspired by [this](https://twitter.com/tshortik/status/1254769477138276353) beautiful, beautiful painting of essek, and consquently, [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lnwmq2tFDqw) song. should i dial back the angst? nah, never! anyway, thank you for all the love and kudos, i hope you all continue to enjoy this fic during this long, tumultuous crit role drought ♥ be safe, take care of each other!

**F** rom the moment he had opened his eyes, he craved sweetness. A gnawing craving at the tip of his tongue, in the pit of his stomach, and at the forefront of his mind. A bowl of lotusberries, wafers, custard tarts… nothing hit the spot. When was the last time he’d had such a craving?

It followed him through his morning meetings at the Lucid Bastion, where he met with the court to discuss Vence’s fate. While he had overseen the Dwendalian man’s interrogation, he had hit a wall for the better half of a week. He passed on what he _had_ gleaned, in that there were more worshippers, but no names, and the man had no real idea of what he had been attempting to unleash into the world.

In the end, the Empire would want Vence returned and Taskhand Adeen would be relinquished to them, also. Which brought about the question of what would be done with the Taskhand once he was back in Rosohna… Or even what would be left of him. The court did what all good courts would do, and made no concrete decisions on the matter. Essek was free to bid himself adieu, to face the inevitability of another day.

The craving led him down the blue-grey steps of the Lucid Bastion and out of the Firmaments, the lines of faintly glowing, green lanterns pulling him into the whirling flurry of the Gallimaufry. As soon as he passed the gates, he made a conscious effort to release his gravitation, feeling the full weight of his body.

It was always… a curious venture, like stepping into another world, especially during the midday hustle and bustle. The streets were full with cart vendors, customers perusing their wears, and the occasional musician or other colourful character. Against the backdrop of the purple and grey buildings, and the green glow of the lanterns, there were colours of all kinds and flashes of metal under the light; swathes of fabric in golds and reds, charms and jewellery clinking over the chatter.

Essek was met with the usual stares whenever he set foot in the Gallimaufry. They all looked at him the same way he did them: a spectacle. An abnormality. Fundamentally apart from one another. An occasional guard would glance his way, but he did not acknowledge them. He pressed on, but his destination was a mystery, guided by the craving he could not fulfil and a familiarity he could not place.

A flash of green caught his eye in his periphery. There was a break in the houses and storefronts. Beyond a low wall fitted with intricate, iron bars, he could see a perfectly square, perfectly kept garden. He stepped against the wall and admired the view.

The garden was not unlike the usual style in Rosohna. Four trees of deep purple wood and blood-red leaves sat in each corner, while a cobbled path of greys, blues and purples, lead from the archway and into a circular pattern in the centre. Where there might have been grass in other parts of Exandria, there were mounds of plump green moss.

A carved, stone bench followed the curve of the circular courtyard. The moonlight broke through the buildings, casting a glow on the garden, as if called down upon by a holy priest. Tiny, glowing fireflies hovered above the two drow figures sat in the peace amongst the chaos. A father, pointing at the floor, and a young boy, nodding emphatically. He knew what was carved into the slabs: the outline of a Luxon Beacon, the history of how they had broken free of Lolth, the climb to the surface and the Dynasty’s continuing victory. A tribute to the Bright Queen.

An emptiness seeped into his veins. Straightening his back, he released his hands that had curled around the iron bars, and stepped back into the noise and the surge of the streets.

* * *

A soft, sweet and full scent wafted into the air, drifting over the smoke of the street foods and incense. He suddenly felt compelled, his mind and body moving on impulse, as if guided by a distant memory. He slipped down a side street, onto another main walkway, and was immediately confronted with a wall of people outside of a squat, rundown building. Dark wooden beams held up a slowly subsiding, low ceiling. The crowd was impatient, and as soon as one body entered the shop, another would step in to fill the space left behind. Suddenly, a voice cut through the murmur of the crowd.

“That is _it_ , we have sold out of cream buns, now go about your business. Go on, get!” A gruff voice bellowed from within the building. Essek watched from a distance, leaning against the opening of the alleyway.

A drone of complaints and jeers filled the air and the crowd, largely of children, teenagers and the occasional consoling parent, of all colours and creed, slowly dispersed. As soon as the people had filtered away and the door to the bakery swung shut with a clatter, Essek made his way across the street.

The door was in rough shape. The wood probably hadn’t been sanded or painted in a hundred years, and the glass from the inside was lined with condensation, eternally clouded. Essek pushed it open, lowered his head, and stepped inside the threshold; immediately a bell jingled, echoing around the room, and the humidity hit him.

It was surprisingly cosy on the inside, regardless of the heat. The ceiling was low, not low enough that he had to duck, but he could feel the pressure of it. Counters lined the walls in a rectangular fashion, and wicker baskets sat atop them, half-empty with breads and pastries. A portly half-orc man, who had turned to the sound of the bell, his expression dour, suddenly seemed to balk as his eyes set upon Essek’s long, dark robes and humourless features. He immediately pulled the cloth hat from his head and bowed, holding it in his hands. Essek cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Ah, what can I do for you? It isn’t my son, is it? He hasn’t been causing problems? My youngest boy?” A tirade of words slipped from the man’s lips as he lifted his head. His hair was greying and there was a thin layer of stubble all about his ruddy cheeks. “Because, don’t you worry, I can discipline him good myself.”

“Ah… No,” Essek cocked a brow. He doubted the heat was the reason for the sweat beading on the man’s brow. His colour was growing increasingly more vibrant, flushed. “I am… simply here as a customer, if you will. Cupcakes, do you have them?”

“N-no,” The man stuttered, his brows pressing together in confusion while his eyes darted from Essek’s face to his feet. If he could have stepped back further into the building, he was sure the man would have, but as such, he was pressed against the counter at his back. Upon seeing the Shadowhand’s unchanged expression, he clasped his hands together, wringing the hat. “Ah, we can make them for you, certainly, Sir.”

“Please,” He replied, shortly. The exchange was growing more and more uncomfortable, and he was finding himself lamenting his decision to do this himself. He could have just sent a servant and saved himself all of the trouble and embarrassment. “Have them sent to my towers.”

“They’re the, uh, the, small, round sorta cakes, yes? With cream on top? You don’t see them much around these parts, I only know of ‘em because my cousin lives in Nicodranas…”

“Yes, that is exactly what I want,” Essek cut through his rambling. Really, he had never actually seen or eaten one, but Jester had talked about them so often, that he felt compelled to try them, and he presumed the baker would know more than he. The last time he had offered her baked goods had gone down rather terribly, so he was glad to see this man knew something of them, at least. Also, he had mentioned _Nicodranas_ , so he considered his ramblings to have some legitimacy. “Make them _very_ sweet.”

“O-o’ course, Shadowhand Thelyss.” The man nodded, fervently. There was a long pause, in which Essek did not know how to end the conversation, before he realised the man was waiting awkwardly for recompense. With a flourish of his hand, a small, velvet pouch shimmered into view, landing with a soft clink in his palm. He dropped two gold coins into the man’s reluctant, open hand as nervous laughter filled the air.

“I, uh, how many cupcakes did you want, s-sir?”

“I don’t care if it is one or two, or a dozen,” He returned. “However, I want a cream bun, for the journey home. You would have _one_ left, yes?”

“Yes, sir, of course! I always keep one just in case, for occasions such as this. Your goods will be with you today, no later than the eve. I’ll send my eldest son, he is most reliable, and he doesn’t talk nearly as much as my youngest – gone in a flash, y’know.”

“Good,” Essek replied curtly. He tilted his head with a small nod and paused on the man for a moment. “Thank you.”

“Oh, no, no, thank you for the patronage. Please, come back any time, or bring your… your friends… You are always welcome…” Feeling a little like a fool, Essek blocked out the man’s endless babbling as he picked out a cream bun from behind the counter, his lips pressed into a thin line. As soon as the pastry, wrapped in paper, was pressed into his hand, he span on his heel and left abruptly. Before the door could close, explosive shouting and cursing hit his ears. The strange nostalgia he felt had been shifted aside, replaced with a mild amount of embarrassment and discomfort.

He turned to walk the same path back, but was immediately blocked. A guard of the Aurora Watch, relatively well ranked and dressed in full armour, stepped into view. With a curt nod, her feet stood together at attention.

“Shadowhand Thelyss, I must implore that you return to the Firmaments or that we accompany you for the rest of your journey.” At the mention of ‘we’, Essek glanced across the street to the entrance of the alleyway, where another guard stood.

“Who gave you this command?” Essek retorted, stepping passed the guard and across the street. It was less busy here, but those that did walk past, eyed him warily. At the fear of being caught, they would look away as soon as he glanced in their direction. He resisted the urge to push the guard, to really jibe her, to see how far she would go in the name of her orders.

“ _Umavi_ Thelyss,” She spoke clearly, following tightly behind as she bowed her head slightly, in respect. Essek picked his way around a cart, purposefully avoiding her.

_Ah._

“May the light guide her,” Essek replied, emotionless.

His mother had never liked him being in the Gallimaufry, even as an adult – even as the _Shadowhand_ to the Bright Queen. No, he recalled her scorn and how she had withheld his classes for weeks because his father had taken him out to visit the vibrant streets as a young boy. How long ago was it, now? He was probably under ten years old when it had happened.

His father had whisked him away, and he had followed close behind, awestruck and overwhelmed by the noise, the colour, the scents. He could recall being afraid of the vendors, too shy to speak to them, but his father had coaxed him with a silver coin to go up and retrieve two skewers for them both, of what he could not recall now. Shame replaced the memory of his pride and accomplishment at seeing his father’s smile upon his return.

Once they were home, his mother had been cold and detached. She ruled that if he did not appreciate what she was providing, then Verin would go in his stead. His brother had been no older than four at the time and showed little to no magical talent.

When she had finally allowed him to return to his lessons, she had informed him in few words that they had lost too much time and Essek could never compete with students his own age. Even _prodigies_ could lose their place, she had told him, distantly. And his fear of his mother’s contempt, her easy dismissal of him, meant more to him than his father’s appraisal. Instead, he had watched his father and brother, unburdened and ungifted, come and go as they please, while he was left to tutors and mentors, for hours and years on end.

“Very well,” he replied, his tone unmoved, but his eyes were hard. Heat roiled in the pit of his stomach in the wake of the resurfaced memory. He traced his steps back rigidly, passing the street vendors, and the quiet, peaceful garden, back through the walls into the Firmaments. All the while accompanied by two guards, and curious, probing eyes.

* * *

The guards had escorted him all the way to gated walls of the complex, just to ensure he didn’t wander. There was nothing to be gained by reprimanding the guards for his mother’s orders, so he had continued the path home with little to no acknowledgement of their existence.

The cupcakes had arrived hours later, while he had been pouring feverishly over his notes. By that time, the sweet craving had been replaced by a bitter, acrid taste, his mood irreversibly fouled. He had the servants leave them in the entrance hall, out of sight and out of mind. The cream bun, however, sat on his desk, but he could not bring himself to eat it. 

He continued working, sat in just his shirt, trousers and boots, bathed in the warm glow of the candlelight. A clattering at the window broke through the silence of the study room, and in turn, his focus was shattered. Books of all sizes were spread about his desk, loose sheets filling every space. He had been so engrossed, his body hovering over the desk and leaning into it, that he visibly flinched at the sound, his head snapping up to glare at the glass. Immediately, he waved his hand and one of the books disappeared.

He waited, until a few heartbeats later, a black, feathered raven came into view, flapping manically as it attempted to find purchase on the brick windowsill.

Eyeing the bird warily, Essek slowly made his way to the end of the room. It was persistent, pecking at the glass, opening and closing its glossy, blue-black wings. Once he was close enough, he noticed the parchment wrapped tightly around it’s leg with a thin slither of leather. _How unusual_.

He opened the window and immediately caught the bird before it could swoop inside, cupping its wings close to its body. Instead of fighting, it settled comfortably, the whites of its eyelids visible and small squawks emitting from its throat. Essek held it away from his body, turning the strange creature in his hands and regarding it curiously. What kind of raven would be so comfortable being contained in this way? Even one that was a trained messenger bird. He had never encountered such a thing.

Essek pulled out a chair and released the bird onto it, expecting a cacophony of noise and wing flaps. Instead, it sat for a moment before facing him, it’s head tilting and swaying, fixing him with a beady stare. Detect magic found nothing too strange, beside the conjuration aura emitting from the bird. The tightly wrapped note, however, was… just a piece of parchment. He untied it from the raven’s leg, ignoring it’s clicks and long, pointed beak as it attempted to pick at the rings on his fingers.

“You are a strange beast,” he exhaled under his breath, and once the letter was released from its leg, it fluttered onto the desk and scampered back and forth over his notes and books.

His chest constricted as he unravelled the tie. He glanced at his desk, just in time to see the raven had found something similar and was picking it up in its beak, tossing it over and over.

“So…” He sighed. “You are… Frumpkin, yes?” The raven croaked, holding the leather strap in its beak. He sat heavily in the chair, rolling the parchment between his fingers and rubbing his forehead as he watched the bird. Caleb had sent his cat, which meant that they would not be returning as a group anytime soon, but also that he did not want the others to know who he was contacting. In all the time they had known each other, his only means of communication with the Mighty Nein had been through a direct message, but never with Caleb.

With a resolute set to his jaw, he unfurled the note.

_I will visit you three days from Frumpkin’s arrival._

_Please, look after my cat until I return. He will be_ ravenous. __

_Your friend,  
Caleb Widogast_

Essek inhaled slowly and held the breath. It had been almost a week since Caleb’s last visit. He threw the note on the desk and opened the paper packaging, offering the pastry to the raven impatiently as apprehension built in his muscles. The bird skittered over and pecked at it. He would have to get something more appropriate for it to eat before Caleb’s arrival.

The tension in his back remained even as he eased into a more relaxed position, propping his elbow on the armrest and pressing his hand to his lips, his fingers picking at the skin. He watched the bird pensively, the muscles in his jaw pronounced as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. He remembered the wizard’s demeanour, all of that tightly coiled intensity and threat. Essek had let it all happen, even enjoyed it - of _course_ he had - and now the man haunted his nights. He curled his hand into a fist.

_But why? Why a raven? Had it been a purposeful choice? Caleb was earnest, but was he ever_ honest _with his intentions, either?_ His head throbbed and the walls felt like they were closing in on all sides. He squeezed his eyes shut, blood pumping in his ears. Watery panic filled his lungs.

He should be better by now. It would be his downfall if he didn’t pull himself together. He was letting too much in. Too many old wounds he hadn’t thought about in a century. He had worked too hard, too long and through too much agony to open it all back up. _The Mighty Nein, the Cerberus Assembly, the Dynasty, Den Thelyss,_ all of it be damned. In the end, no one would control him. No one would manipulate _him_.

The bird flinched with the clatter of the chair as Essek stood, his ice blue eyes burning. The raven had no chance to move before he grasped it in his hands, and he himself had no chance to step outside of himself, to consider what he was doing. He stalked over to the end of the room and threw it out into the night, slamming the window shut to the sound of Frumpkin’s flapping wings and disapproving squawks. He steeled himself, his body tense and outlined by the glow of the moon, holding in his breath and forcing his heartrate to slow. He watched the raven glide off into the night, disappearing into the shadows.


End file.
